


The direwolf, the witch and the overthrown king

by petrichorblue94



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Arya The Explorer, Arya being awesome, F/M, Future Fic, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Post-Series, R plus L equals J, Rumors, Secret Past, Secret Relationship, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, arya and gendry for couple of the year, arya is westeros' christophor columbus, awww, bran IS mystery, did people say we were married but we were actually only fucking long-term, did we marry, gendry being awesome, gendrya equals relationship goals, jonsa relationship through the eyes of other people, jonsa's sadness being like MAKE IT STOP level of angst until it isn't, sansa has an air of mystery, sansa's appears cold and distant, starring petyr baelish and fake!aegon and mystery poisoner as the main villains, the stark kids have grown and have kids, tormund x brienne being like were we lovers, you send me rowing i came back as the wealthy sea merchant that sells weapons, you will never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorblue94/pseuds/petrichorblue94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could not understand lady Sansa, nor could I understand her coldness. People whispered she was a witch - because during the Great War she had wielded a knife and killed one of the Commanders of Death; because as a child she had poisoned her first fiancé; because she had married the usurper of the North, but only so she could feed him to his own dogs to retake her family's lands; because she had poisoned her third husband, a young and frail man who had been her cousin.</p><p>It was as if ice daggers had suddenly pierced my heart when she looked at me, someone had said and his words were remembered. Men compared her beauty to that of the woman that had seduced the Night’s King. A curse lay upon her, old women would say when discussing politics and the North.</p><p>I was possibly one of the very few who knew lady Sansa had broken king Jon’s kind heart but he still loved her to this very day, so much that on his - possibly - dying breath he wanted to see her. </p><p>But there was something else I knew about her since recently… There was a man named Baelish, and this great witch of winter was terrified of him."</p><p>- Sansa Stark, as seen by the eyes of a thirteen years old bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which bad news are delivered

**Ser Ronald Seymour**

_-aw, fuck._

The bloody mist made is difficult not to kill myself by tripping on some rock or tree root, let alone find my way through this godsforsaken forest. At last my eyes were able to take in some details of what lay ahead of me: what once might have been an apple orchard now stood frozen in time by the ice and snow, a cursed place. Everything was quiet and still, the sky appeared the wintery shade of reddish brown. The apples looked red and ripe, almost sinisterly becoming in this dark and haunted place, illuminated only by the snow. I walked through the forest, and, bewitched, I made to grab one of the apples but the fruit was frozen as a rock. When I threw it away, it passed over a young wolf’s head; apparently the creature had been watching me through the pine trees. Our gazes locked and we both froze but neither was agitated. I was not too scared however: I’ve always been comfortable around the king’s direwolf, and I prided myself for this because not many could say the same.

It was not the pup that scared me.

The thought of what else lived on the edge of this forest made my breath hitch, but I had to continue. Soon the lands grew inclined and I realized I was nearing the mountain. As promised, not long after, I managed to see a narrow stone path and a small dugout at the end of it. The lights were glowing and it was so fucking cold outside that I was excited to get myself warm, even if I had to speak to a murderous witch… self-exiled Northern queen, or whatever she called herself nowadays.

But bearing the news I did, I would not be surprised if I did not live long enough to warm my cold hands by her fireplace.

My dry throat contracted and I gulped in fear but told myself to have courage and proceeded. I wondered if I should knock, felt like an idiot but did not want to be impolite.

“You may enter, ser Seymour,” a female voice said.

I tried not to hesitate for too long and thinking of the warmth inside, I entered. The first thing I noticed was the fireplace – it looked absolutely inviting, what with the two chairs before it. One was occupied by a young redheaded woman, her hair the same shade as the fire. She was around my age or maybe a few years older than me. Her blue-green eyes regarded me as if she was reading my very soul, but I could not even know if she would kill me through some sorcery or offer me tea.

“Lady Stark,” I greeted. No use in prolonging the unavoidable, I thought to myself and began. “I bring news of the South, my Lady, the king-”

“Sit, ser Seymour,” lady Stark said. “Warm yourself before the fire, have some water or ale. Are you hungry?” Her voice was pleasant enough but still there was something behind it that I did not understand. I was still not sure if I’d live through the ale. “I’ve made some eggs with bacon the minute I saw you enter the forest, so you should hurry – they’re getting cold.” I was chilled by her words but nodded, trying to be brave.

I should say that I was not a good messenger that first half an hour in the witch’s house. I did not tell her the news because I was too busy eating like a wolf and sating my thirst with an ale that had no right to be this good so far away in the North.

I almost forgot what I was there about, as I spread my legs before the fireplace, and outstretched my hands as I had dreamed.

“Ser Seymour,” lady Stark called me. She had been studying me silently as I ate and drank and talked less than the golden-eyed wolf earlier. Her call now reminded me of the reason I had come all the way from King’s Landing to here, why I roamed through cursed forests and chilling landscapes in the first place. Startled, I sat up properly and all the peace from a moment ago had evaporated from me.

“Oh, right,” I said dumbly, but secretly I was actually congratulating myself for not swearing at myself in front of a Lady. “I’m sorry.” Breathing in and gathering my thoughts I finally began the tale of the catastrophic events from a fortnight ago. “I am sent by king Jon Targaryen, rightful ruler of all of Westeros, conqueror of the Far North and slayer of the Night King-”

“I know very well who Jon Targaryen is,” lady Stark said sharply. “Tell me what he sent you for…”

“The king has fallen,” I interrupted her before she even finished. “The throne overtaken, Jon Targaryen wounded, maybe fatally, I don’t know. Fled on his dragon towards Meereen and his aunt, in hopes of recuperating there. His last words before that were to come find you, and bring you to him, if he is still alive. He needs the support of House Stark.”

“He already has it,” lady Stark said. “But who has dared usurp the throne? Jon Targaryen is beloved by all his people, he is Azor Ahai reborn, a hero to all of us.”

“A man who says he is Aegon Targaryen, his older brother. His claim is that he is the rightful Targaryen ruler, Jon is a bastard and that the cursed Winter won’t end because a bastard is sitting on the iron throne.”

“And the people are stupid enough to believe him?”

“They’re common folk, they believe everything that sounds remotely superstitious, especially at times like this.”

Lady Stark stood up.

“I shall write to my brother Bran Stark in Winterfell and tell him that I am indeed leaving,” she declared and sat next to the little table at the center of the room.

“Indeed, my lady?”

The red-haired woman looked up to him. “He was the one who told me to come to this place and meet you. He saw it in a vision. And who told _you_ that it was here you would find me, ser Seymour?”

“King Targaryen, my lady.”

She nodded to herself. “Fate is strange, don’t you think?” But the Northern queen didn’t wait for him to reply and began writing.

All of a sudden we heard scratching on the door. I jumped: I swear my heart had stopped for full three seconds.

“It’s alright, it’s just Snow,” lady Stark said without looking up from her letter. “Let him in.”

“Snow, my lady?” I asked, not understanding anything (for the hundredth time this night; at least my squire is an even more awkward boy, this made me feel both satisfied and missing the little bugger).

“My _direwolf_ , ser Seymour.”

“Ah.”

Soon there was a decently big white ball of fur laying at the lady’s feet and looking at me with the hypnotizing golden eyes.

“Are we going to depart tomorrow morning, my lady?”

Lady Stark didn’t reply to me for a minute, intent on finishing the letter, but at last she sighed and spoke: “Gods know this place creeps me out, but it would be unwise to venture into the cold night. There is only one bed but I think you’ll prefer to have a blanket nearer the fire anyway.”

We had little else to do but to go to sleep, as lady Stark didn’t seem to have the desire for questions.

Soon I found myself staring at the flames and drifting away. Not falling asleep because of worry for my king was not an option: the way to Meereen was brutal and consuming.

Still, I knew someone was watching me for a long while. I did not know if it was the direwolf or the lady. With mysterious powers like hers, did it truly matter?

Morning came with a headache. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically I was half-asleep when the idea for the plot came to me and this might not be very logical.  
> But honestly, I put at least 3 Easter eggs here. I'll unveil them chapter by chapter (this story isn't meant to be long anyway) if I continue this.


	2. In which there are high criminal rates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are re-introduced to Arya and Gendry. We also meet Ed Stone, the unlucky bastard that is ser Seymour's squire.

**Ed Stone, a squire**

 

 _“It is a hot summer day, it’s so hot that even my skin burns”_ , I kept repeating as I tried to fight off the coldness that was consuming me. The boy hadn’t yet come to start the fireplace and I was lying through my teeth.

I could not forgive ser Seymour for leaving me in White Harbor to wait for him. What kind of a squire was I, if he would mollycoddle me all the time? And anyway, looking from his point of view, wasn't it safer for a boy of thirteen to be with him, a knight forged in blood and steel, instead of alone in this city where I knew no one, a city that was famous for its criminal rate and… yeah, I was being an irritating little sod, wasn’t I? But in my defense, I was almost robbed twice and a drunkard once tried to beat me (but I valiantly fought back and somehow managed to knock him out).

Thinking that I couldn't bear to stay in this chillingly cold room _where I could even see my own breath_ , I stood up from the bed. I never knew summer, but this far in the North is even worse than at King's Landing.

“It’s not hot, it's so not hot," I told myself as I started dressing. I put all of my things (not many) in my leather backpack because only a fool would leave his stuff while he went out.

Of course ser Seymour had to pay for a room at the highest floor. Possibly to ensure that I would not miss the exercise while he was away.

Speaking of him, he should be returning soon. He paid the inn-keeper for a week worth of stay, his last words to me: “Don’t get in danger, don’t fuck up anything. Don’t go out in the night. You’ve been a squire for three months and still can’t kick anyone’s arse. If I don’t return in two weeks, I’m dead and you should find a safe place to live. If you feel brave enough, go find Daenerys Targaryen in Meereen and offer her your service.”

He’s been gone for a week and a half. I’ve been paying the inn-keeper by selling some of my stuff and should ser Seymour not return in a few days, I had to either sleep on the streets or sell the last valuable thing that I had – my dagger. It was the only thing I had left from my mother before she died in the very fire that ser Seymour had rescued me from as a babe. The letters T. N. engraved in the steel. Presumably my father’s initials. Needless to say, I would rather sleep on the streets than be without my weapon.

The walk through the snow-covered city, none-the-less buzzing with life, made me feel much more optimistic and cheerful. With some of the few coins I had left, I bought something that looked like fried seafood wrapped in a flatbread and went to the docks.

One of the prettier ships was just arriving and people were preparing to unload the goods it was carrying. I was watching as what seemed to be the merchant and his mistress or wife, looking ahead from the board (probably mistress, no proper wife would be wearing a man’s clothing). Munching on my last few bites, I took a moment to take in the two of them: he was a cool-looking middle-aged man with dark hair, dressed in leathers and pelts. His mistress was no standard beauty – a woman probably ser Seymour’s age, rather horse-faced, with thick eyebrows and long dark hair that fell freely. Still, she seemed to have a charm of her own, something wild and all-defying in her very appearance.

I was wondering what they were trading with when I felt a heavy hand fall on my shoulder. Startled, I looked up.

“That’s a rather nice dagger, you have, boy,” a copper-haired man said. “Valyrian steel, if my eye does not deceive me.”

I shrugged off the man’s hand. “Your eye deceives you, ser. This is a common dagger, nothing interesting about it.”

“How much do you want for it?” he asked, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“It is not for sale.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, rising an eyebrow. “I’ve come here to buy some of the weapons that this ship carries and I’m well prepared to pay for a Valyrian dagger.”

“Not a Valyrian dagger, and not up for negotiation,” I said, standing and meaning to leave. Another heavy hand made me sit again. An even larger man, one of the copper-haired man’s goons.

I could not believe my luck. I have nothing else in me but a dagger, my clothes and a few coins and here I was, being robbed again for the third time this week.

“Ser, I would ask you to leave me alone and proceed with your business.”

“Collecting weapons and selling them to the king’s army _is_ my business, lad. King Aegon is a new customer, one I would like to impress. I imagine all of the new weapons in this ship are worth half the price of the dagger in your muddy hands. I fail to understand how a no one like you would be in the possession of this, but perhaps the gods do work in mysterious ways.”

So I would have to fight two enormous men now? Yeah, ser Seymour should have taken me with him. The witch Sansa Stark seems less dangerous than a stay in White Harbor. Gulping, I prepared to fight, knowing I had no real chance. Still, I would be brave. People have always praised me for being brave, even if half the time I was a scared little ball of nerves on the inside. I tried to get away from the men one last time but they laughed and I was pulled by the shoulder again. I shut my eyes for a moment, squeezed my dagger for moral support and shoved it in the larger man’s leg with all my might. His eyes bulged: “Filthy little bastard,” he hissed and in his eyes I saw that there’d be no forgiveness.

He lifted his hand to hit me – no weapon would be needed, at thirteen I was still gangly and awkward and would probably pass out in not too long – and I shut my eyes, waiting for the unavoidable darkness.

Suddenly, quite honestly from nowhere, the man was kicked in the groin and swiftly, a small, slender sword was pointed to the his wide chest.

“Leave,” she growled. Wait, _she_? I turned to look at my savior. The very woman I had been staring a few minutes ago.

“Lady Waters,” the shorter, copper-haired man said, surprised and pleading. “We’re prepared to buy half of your husband’s weapons, surely, it’d be wiser for you to-”

“I won’t allow for a man who is willing to rob a child to have business with my husband, ser Vane, and if you don’t expect for you and your goon to taste my Needle’s pointy end, you should go. _Now_.”

The men scurried off and I turned to look at lady Waters, awestruck. From up close, she seemed vaguely familiar.

“Thank you, lady Waters.”

She smiled to me and ruffled my hair. I instantly felt like a little child and tried not to frown at her. “Call me Arya. I think I’ve seen you, in King's Landing. You are ser Seymour’s little squire, aren’t you?”

Before I could answer, behind her shoulder I saw her husband approaching us, an amused smile on his face.

“I—yeah,” I said finally, just as lord Waters was finally in front of me.

“That’s my vicious wife,” he said, endeared. “Always the knight in shining armor.” He smiled at me and he too ruffled my hair. This time I actually groaned. But like, really quietly, so it was still an achievement. “You should have seen how she jumped from the board, landed on the docks like a cat, and wasted no time in running to your valiant rescue - it was the stuff of songs.”

“If I recall the night you asked me to marry you, dear husband - amidst a _battle_ at that -” Lady Arya said as she turned to look at him with twinkling eyes. “I had just saved your life from a white walker. So perhaps indeed I was always a knight.”

“Um, perhaps I should go,” I said awkwardly, before they – I don’t know – _kissed_ or something. Both turned to look at me once more, and then lord Waters raised both his brows.

“Hey, that dagger, isn’t it-” Arya poked him with her elbow and he frowned in pain. What was so important about my dagger anyway? “Ah, right, sorry. Perfectly ordinary dagger. Steady-looking weapon.”

Both his wife and I stared at him, risen eyebrows of our own. That’s a lot of eyebrow wriggling for one morning.

“Where are you staying at?” Arya asked.

I briefly considered not telling her but there was something about her that seemed honest and honorable. “The Wolf’s head.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, ser Seymour left for North, in search of lady Stark.”

Arya’s features morphed in sudden excitement but for the life of me I couldn’t understand what she could be excited about. “And why is he searching for her? I had thought he would be with Jon in Meereen.”

“The king tasked him in finding lady Stark, probably as an ambassador of House Stark and bringing her to him.”

“I see,” was all she said. “Is he to return soon?”

“Yes,” I told her. Should I mention that he should have returned by now?

“That’s good. We will depart for Meereen in two days, so if he should come with her, we’ll provide the ride.”

“That’s… that’s very generous of you,” I said. Arya looked at me with a smile. We were almost the same height, but she was still a bit taller than me. I’ve always thought that I’d get tall, so I waited impatiently for those famous growth spurts.

“I’m not generous. Lady Stark is my sister. Jon is my brother.”

“Your cousin,” Gendry corrected her.

“Brother,” she said without looking away from me.

“You’re Arya _Stark_?” I said, even more awestruck than before. “Arya Stark, the Explorer? They say you're first northerner after Brandon the Shipwright to sail away to see what’s west of Westeros, there are _legends_ about you!”

Arya Stark looked very pleased with herself.

“She _knows_ ,” lord Waters groaned. _Gendry Waters, bastard son of Robert Baratheon_ , if my memory serves. “She knows all the legends about her and retells them to our children instead of bedtime stories. They think she’s some kind of a goddess and offer her sacrifices – lemon cakes – every second full moon.”

“Sansa and I bonded over her precious lemon cakes after the war,” Arya told me with a smirk. “And it started as me eating them _mockingly_ , to think.”  

A pause followed, during which we all suddenly realized we’ve been standing for a while. We all got awkward. Lord Waters cleared his throat.

“I think we should go. Arya, we have business to make.”

The lady looked at me with some strange expression. “Can we take him with us?”

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“We’ll make sure no one attacks you again, young squire,” she told me with a wink. “And we’re staying in the Wolf’s Head too, so we’ll accompany you later. Wait for Sansa and ser Seymour together. I bet you have interesting stories to tell.”

I looked at her in amazement and laughed. “You’re the one to talk!"

Somehow we had started walking with lord Waters leading the way.


	3. In which we learn a secret

**Ed Stone, a squire**

 

I didn’t know why a famous explorer like Arya Stark would find me interesting, but somehow she did. While she and her husband were talking with various merchants and traders, she’d throw a joke or two towards me, a wink or a hair-ruffle which always made me frown.

“Lady Arya!” I told her finally, trying to be as polite in my tone as possible. “I’m a squire, a future knight, I’m not to be mollycoddled!”

Arya smiled then. “You remind me of me when I was your age. Only I didn’t complain so much.”

Lord Waters threw her a side-glance while he was talking about the prices of the shortswords.

They took me to a tavern for lunch and I had some delicious steak – I hadn’t been able to try one since the coup.

I wondered what had happened to the king, if he was still alive. I never talked much with him but he always seemed nice and looked out for ser Seymour – they were true friends. Many times ser Seymour brought me with him while he drank ale with the king and they shared old war stories from during the end of the Great Winter War, and the subsequent wars after that (ser Seymour had been a young squire, like me, and he had trained under Brienne of Tarth along with a boy whose name I always forgot – both the boy and the lady were dead now, but ser Seymour held the memory alive). As far as I am concerned, ser Seymour had been like my father since the day he rescued me from the fire and no other relative spoke up for me. I always prided myself with being the youngest squire I know. Since I lived with ser Seymour and followed him anywhere whenever it was safe enough, he had told me two months ago: “Ed, if you’re going to keep accompanying me, you should know that a lot of people don’t particularly like me. Brawls might start all of a sudden. You need to be prepared. I’ll teach you how to fight. And not just with a sword. Lady Brienne’s husband was a wildling, he taught me all about raw power.” He had beamed at my grimace. “Don’t be a gal, my life began when I became a squire, I’ve always told you that.”

I was currently worried about him too but tried to occupy my mind with the breath of fresh air that were lady Arya and her husband.

* * *

 

Night came at last and we returned to “The Wolf’s Head” where an actual enormous wolf was waiting for us.

“Nymeria!” Arya addressed the wolf, pleased.

“Lady Arya,” the distressed inn-keeper came forward as soon as he saw her. “I had thought it might be yers, too big for an ordinary wolf… But the customers are fearful of it; I’ve to think of them…”

“I’ll pay the ale for all of your customers, Ben,” Arya told him, laughing as the giant wolf licked at her face. “Nymeria is perfectly safe unless threatened.”

The inn-keeper seemed to calm down a little and nodded slowly. “Aye, folks, the lady will pay for yer ale if you ignore the giant wolf, says she’s perfectly safe but don’t try yer luck!” he yelled. The men cheered and toasted.

“Now let us eat, man!” Arya told him with one of her brilliant smiles that did nothing to dissuade the association with a horse, but still made her as charming as the sun. “We’re starving.” While waiting for the dinner to be served, lady Arya rested her hands behind her neck and said: “Gods, I’m starting to miss Essos. Don’t get me wrong, I miss the kids too. We haven’t been home for how long, Gendry, two months? Little Robb has probably grown a mile. But I miss the _warmth_ , the deserts, the view of the moon and the stars…”

“So much for winter in your blood,” her husband teased her.

“Shuddup, _because_ winter is in my blood I always have cold feet and desert’s heat grew on me during my stay there. And Sothoryos too, once you grow immune to the plague.”

“How _does_ one grow immune to the plague?” I asked.

“Why, you have to survive it, stupid,” Arya said. “I wasn’t the prettiest of sights then.”

“Arya,” lord Waters said. “You’re always the most becoming sight to me.” His wife appeared both amused and endeared.

Finally dinner was served and we dug in.

“Lady Arya,” I asked while munching – ser Seymour looked at me warily. “Why didn’t Nymeria come with us once we left the docks?” The wild animal had somehow managed to endear itself to me and had currently laid its enormous head on my knees. I was petting it slowly, because it’s been years since I last petted an animal.

“Nymeria isn’t a tame wolf, Ed,” she told me. “She’s always been free to go wherever she wishes.”

“Just like you,” lord Waters told her with an amused smile.

Gah, adults and their love.

I was just going to say so, when the front door opened and all the winter and snow invaded – I hadn’t noticed it had started snowing again.

First came in ser Seymour and I immediately stood up from my chair, unsure if I was too old to go fling myself into the arms of the man who had raised me. He looked rosy-cheeked from the cold outside, his eternally wild hair hidden under a fur hat, tall and lean in his pelts and leathers, the very image of a man from Westeros. His eyes searched the room for me and once his eyes detected our little group, he smiled wildly and beamed at me.

Second came in the wolf. Not as big as Nymeria, barely tall enough as a normal wolf but still – its golden eyes hypnotizing. The inn-keeper would probably be distressed once more. The second wolf quickly came to Nymeria and both seemed overjoyed and excited by one another.

Third came in lady Sansa Stark. With her thin frame, her pale face, her red hair and striking blue-green eyes, she looked like Winter personified. This was the mysterious witch I had heard so much about, self-exiled queen of the North, as ser Seymour and I had assumed, living in that cursed forest North of Winterfell. This was the woman, the very woman that had destroyed king Jon’s heart, or so he told me a month ago, when he’d uncharacteristically had too much of a drink and ser Seymour had gone to piss. “Here’s to lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the woman who refused to have a man rule over her,” he’d declared to me, looking unfittingly sad for a king. “Today is her nameday. May she find in herself again the gentleness that she had denied to both of us, and may she be healthy, and loved, and h- honorable like her father.”

As far as I knew, everyone else thought that king Jon was mourning his queen, Margaery Tyrell, and his stillborn son even twelve years after their deaths. He'd refused to remarry, after all. But his words made me unsure.

Lady Sansa Stark's eyes scanned the room just like ser Seymour and found our table. She grinned at her sister, nodded to lord Waters and finally settled on me for a brief second before she turned to say something the inn-keeper that had gone to greet her. Probably something about the second great wolf.

Ser Seymour was already sitting on our table and greeting lady Arya and lord Waters, his hand patting me on my back. At least he never ruffled my hair, like seemingly everyone else. That is what I call respect. He finally turned to look at me. “Didn’t get into any trouble when I was gone, I hope?”

I grinned at him. “Only three attempts at robbery, twice I ran and once I tried to fight back, valiantly at that, but I think I froze because I’ve never stabbed anyone – even in the knee like now – and I was about to get my arse kicked when lady Arya saved me.”

“It was a swashbuckling romance,” lord Waters joked.

Ser Seymour looked mildly pissed off. “I seem to have raised a magnet for misadventures.”

“Let’s look at them as adventures,” I said, looking at him pleadingly. I hoped he wouldn’t be angry at me, I didn’t want him to tell me how rash I was in front of my new friends. “A guy thought my dagger was Valyrian steel…” I said, trying to change the subject.

“It _is_ Valyrian steel,” ser Seymour said.

I felt like I had the shock of my life. “What?! Why hadn’t you told me?”

“It never crossed my mind to tell you, really.” Still mulling over that new piece of information, I turned to look at lady Arya but she had stood up to meet her sister. From what I saw, they seemed less close than I’d been led to believe. They had a brief conversation and then they came to sit next to us.

I observed Sansa Stark again, but she didn’t seem to notice me. Finally, ser Seymour noticed me staring and said: “Lady Stark, this is my squire, Ed Stone,” he introduced me. Lady Stark finally turned to look at me, and I thought her haughty and cold, because she barely turned to nod at me when she returned to her conversation with lord Waters and Arya about the coup.

“I can’t believe that cunt – actual Aegon Targaryen or not – dared to usurp the Iron throne," said Arya. "It belongs to Jon, he fought for Westeros and he reunited the seven kingdoms and he is the one with Doron, and in my book, having an alpha dragon trumps arguably being born ‘on the right side of the sheets’."

“Jon shouldn’t have allowed him in court. From what I heard from ser Seymour, Aegon had stayed for two weeks before raising the coup. He’d plotted his way and spinned his political webs and have no doubt, he’s good. Baelish had tried to steer him for a pretender for the crown thirteen years ago, but Aegon decided to swear his allegiance to Jon. He probably thought Westeros’ love for Jon was too unshakable and only a fool would try to take Jon Targaryen from his people…” She paused for a moment, as if lost in thought. “And Jon never remarried after Margaery. Aegon has a dozen bastards, Targaryen or not, and the world worries that Jon will never give an heir…”

 

“Anyway,” Arya continued, as if lady Sansa had not interrupted her. “I was about to come to Winterfell and ask you to come with us to Meereen-” So much for generously waiting for her sister just by the way. “Because if you’d continued to sit on that cold throne with that bony arse of yours, you’d be batshit crazy for me.”

“As you see, I’ve come,” lady Sansa said hotly.

“And that’s good. Jon is _Jon_ , we can’t abandon him at a time like this. He needs us. You, more than anyone. If he can ever forgive you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” lady Arya’s sister replied sharply. Suddenly I felt as if I shouldn’t have been sitting on this table, listening to a conversation so intimate – between and about great people at that. “We leave tomorrow morning for Meereen,” she stood up. “Now excuse me, I’m going to retire… It’s been a long journey and I’m tired.”

I watched her as she went to the inn-keeper, Ben, and he had his daughter lead her to one of the rooms upstairs.

Silence fell upon the table.

“Cold as ice, my sister,” Arya commented as she angrily stabbed into her dinner with renowned vigor.

“Arya!” lord Waters reproached.

“What? I love her and I get what she’s been through but she’s too stubborn for her own good. Lives got ruined because of her fears.”

“I don’t think Baelish is some unsubstantial fear,” her husband told her.

There was another long silence, when suddenly lady Arya stood up and headed upstairs. The two direwolves followed her, happily rubbing into each other.

Lord Waters, ser Seymour and I stood awkwardly there for a second before we returned to our food. Lord Waters had me try some of the ale and it was revolting but I wanted to prove myself to the two men and drank half the goblet but it made me feel sleepy and I decided to go back to my room, which now even more inconveniently than ever, was at the last floor.

And I heard their laugh then, lady Arya’s and lady Sansa’s, but it was the sort of laugh that comes after crying, when ser Seymour has given me a carved direwolf, like king Jon’s Ghost, to cheer me up after falling and told me that I looked ugly when I cried.

They were on the second-to-last floor, and no one else had retired upstairs save for a couple that was… well, as ser Seymour would have said – minding their nightly business. I didn’t exactly want to overhear the ladies, but it was focusing on that or listening to “Oh, Brandon, yes!”.

“Want me to order lemon cakes?” It was lady Arya’s voice, followed by a giggle. 

“It’d cost us a fortune here.” A pause. “It was so hard with Rickon on my way here, Arya,” lady Sansa said. I didn’t know someone else was accompanying her except ser Seymour. “Not having him remember me, or Winterfell, or anything…” I suddenly stopped climbing the stairs.

“No one can remember if they don’t want to, Sansa… but it is stupid of you, to never come to King’s Landing to see him. He is your brother.”

“Once was enough. Even now, after all these years, when I saw him call himself with another name, not bearing the Stark sigil, all I can imagine is the way Ramsay tortured him, broke his mind, made him forget. And I wanted to resurrect this bastard, like it was done with Jon, so I could kill him again for the monstrosities he had committed.”

“You know, in a way, it turned out for the best that he became ser Ronald Seymour, don’t you think?”

Suddenly I did not wish to hear anything more and I ran all the way to my room, shutting the door.

* * *

 

Ser Seymour awoke me in the morning, telling me to prepare myself – the ship for Meereen was to depart in an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically Rickon lives but he got broken by Ramsay (at least not killed), and when he was saved by Jon and Sansa, he had no memories of his life before. When they tried to tell him who he was, he got in a panic attack and shut down again. They decided to give him a new chance at life, under Jon's and Brienne's and Tormund's and Pod's watchful eyes. But Ronald Seymour - Rickon Stark, R.S. anyone? ;)  
> Also am I the only one who noticed that Sansa represses her emotions so deeply it's definitely not healthy?
> 
>  
> 
> BTW, Jon will finally appear by the end of next chapter! He's not gotten too old in 15-16 years, seeing as Kit Harrington is just 5-6 years younger than Jon's supposed to be in this fic.


	4. In which House Targaryen is (re)introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The newest 2 am chapter of my story, because of course, fuck sleeping.

**Ed Stone, a squire**

 

I had never crossed the sea before and only then, staring at the sunset that was drowning in infinity of water, did I see the appeal it held over lady Arya. Ser Seymour was drinking with lord Waters. Lady Arya and lady Sansa were in lady Sansa’s berth, arguing about something – _again_ – their voices too muffled to be understood. I didn’t have the desire to understand too, after last night.

There were some things I knew now.

Sansa Stark was a witch. She was not exiled as ser Seymour and I had thought, but was a proper co-ruler of the North along with her brother Bran.

The man who raised me and cared for me since a babe was actually Rickon Stark, who was thought to have died at the hands of some Northern usurper that had subsequently been executed.

 _He_ did not know this – he had lost the memory. He had lost all of his memories prior to awaking one morning, lady Brienne and her husband claiming to have found him in the forest.

His siblings knew the truth but they didn’t tell him in order to preserve his sanity.

“Hey, Ed!” ser Seymour called me from the small wooden table he and lord Waters were sitting on, a few meters behind me. “Why are you so pensive?” He smiled his energetic smile, his eyes crinkling merrily in a way that made him seem ten years younger.

“Ah, nothing,” I said quickly, turning to stare stubbornly back at the sunset.

Soon I heard him standing up and coming to me, his hand grasping my shoulder warmly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I repeated, never once looking at him.

He sighed but his energetic and light tone did not disappear. “If you want to talk to me, you know where I am.” He returned to lord Waters then and they recommenced their talk, albeit with softer and quieter voices.

I watched the charming sunset, thinking – overdramatically, I know now – how at least the waves could not see the treacherous tears.

The sun had long since drowned when I heard lady Arya calling us inside for dinner. I brushed my face with the back of my sleeve – discreetly, or so I had thought, and turned to go with the other two men.

When we entered, lady Sansa was just helping set the table, something I hadn’t expected her to do even if I hadn’t had any conscious expectations from her. Her eyes snapped up towards us, as if startled, and for a brief moment her widened eyes found mine. I revered in this short moment of attention, even if she quickly went back to avoiding me, doubtlessly because I was a bastard.

I sighed defeatedly, thinking that the only good thing since Aegon Targaryen's appearance at King's Landing, was meeting the adventurous lady Arya and her husband. Probably it was also beneficent that I had managed not to get myself killed or robbed since then.

I could not understand lady Sansa, nor could I understand her coldness. She was a woman they whispered about, said she was a witch, because during the Great War she had wielded a knife and killed one of the Commanders of Death. They said she was a witch because she had learned to use herbs and potions, poisons. As a child she had poisoned her first fiancé, one of the wretched Lannisters, but not before she had married his uncle, a dwarf. After divorcing him, she married the usurper of the Northern, but only so she could have the chance to actually feed him to his own dogs.

She had then poisoned her third husband, a young and frail man who had been her cousin. After the third time she never remarried, and rumors were added to the theory of her being a witch. She was so fiercely independent that whoever spoke to her of a husband had to suffer her lethal glare. _It was as if ice daggers had suddenly pierced my heart_ , someone had said and his words were remembered. Men compared her beauty to that of the woman that had seduced the Night’s King. _A curse lay upon her_ , old women would say when discussing politics and the North.

I was possibly one of the very few to know that lady Sansa had also somehow broken king Jon’s kind heart but he still loved her and needed her to this very day. He must be enchanted by her sorcery, I had thought then. But there was something else I knew since recently… There was a man named Baelish, and this witch of winter was terrified of him.

At dinner lady Arya again directed some of her attention to me, asking me about my swordsmanship and telling me she’d train with me after dinner. This was possibly the only thing that brightened up my spirits at dinner. But it was wonderful after that, training with her under the night sky, in a ship amidst the sea, with lord Waters and ser Seymour watching us merrily, remembering the old days (actually not so long ago) when they had fought together in battles. Surprisingly even lady Sansa was sitting next to ser Seymour, sewing something in her lap. I supposed that even a berth fit for a lady wasn’t as appealing when the night was so fine and everyone else was out.

Eventually we grew tired. Lady Arya had been so good with the sword that I swear I thought at least twice I wanted to become like her when I grew up. Finally, she ruffled my hair, to which this time I was too tired to protest. She then called it a night, taking her husband by the hand as she went, and his eyes were glowing with that happy glint of his as he followed her.

* * *

 

And so time passed, surprisingly swiftly. I grew used to lord and lady Waters and the electricity they seemed to carry around them like cloaks.

Eventually I grew used to lady Sansa’s cold and stiff distance, the way no one could quite ever touch her… As if the pieces of Wall that had fallen sixteen years ago had been taken and rebuilt inside her heart, making everyone else an Other in her heart, making her an Other to us. Such a sad life she must have had, to have become so cold. But those things did not concern me, there was no use in occupying my mind with them.

Before the ship landed in Meereen, I even somehow managed to make myself not think about the uncomfortable truth of ser Seymour’s past.

* * *

_Gods, it’s cold, so cold_ , I kept repeating in my head, unsuccessful at convincing myself, as I was actually currently thinking I’d die of the heat. I’d long since remained only in a shirt and breeches and even they seemed too much.

_Well, you wanted to see what hot felt like, and your wish was granted_ , I told myself at last, wondering if it would be too improper to forgo boots as well.

Lady Sansa too was feeling unwell, she almost fainted after breakfast, and lady Arya - who'd actually worn a dress today, albeit a very simple one -  had to go and give her some sherbet and keep her company in her berth for the duration of the morning. Even ser Seymour said he wasn’t feeling too well.

We’d been used to winter, and I’d never even known anything but it. But on Essos it was as if Winter did not exist. Lord Waters and lady Arya were surprisingly well accustomed and didn't complain, but they were living a peregrine’s life and knew all sorts of climate.

What made it all worse for me however, was when lord Waters said that this was supposed to be even marginally cooler than the land because of the sea breeze. At the end lady Arya had some sherbet prepared for ser Seymour and me too and advised us to go to our berth. But I didn’t want to be confined there, I was too curious to see city, the royal party, the Queen... we were expected to dock by midday and I didn't want to miss anything.

* * *

I had marveled at the Great Pyramid for a good hour, overheating forgotten for the moment, before the ship finally arrived on shore.

The royal party was waiting for us as we docked. It consisted of the Queen, her guards, and a young dark haired girl that stood by her side. The girl was the only one of the party to have noticed me observing them and challengingly had held my gaze for a moment.

Lord Waters and lady Arya were the first of us to go greet the Queen, with lady Arya bowing hastily and asking about king Jon’s wellbeing.

“He is slowly recovering, lady Waters,” the Queen said. “Still not fit enough to come and greet you, although he expressed his utmost desire.” She then glanced curiously towards lady Sansa and I wondered for a moment if she’d ever heard of her from king Jon. The northerner's eyes bravely locked with hers until the Queen looked away. “This is my successor, Raedes Targaryen,” she announced after a pause, gesturing towards the shrewd-looking young girl by her side. I think I was not the only one confused in our party, so the Queen proceeded to explain with a wry smile. “She is Viserys’ bastard daughter but I’ve decided to legitimize her as of last month.” And then the dark haired girl who looked more Dornish than Valyrian  _grinned_ , and I could absolutely imagine lady Sansa being inwardly scandalized by the idea of a bastard being made a royal heir. “I met her on the streets of Meereen, she had come from Pentos to find me.”

“With all due respect, queen Daenerys,” lady Arya interrupted, never one to cower from asking glaringly obvious yet uncomfortable questions. “How can you be sure that she is the daughter of your brother?”

“Because she set me on fire,” Raedes interrupted her, all fiery spirit and tanned skin, a stark contrast to her pale aunt. “And I did not burn. I proved myself a dragon.”

A brief and uncomfortable silence followed and then the queen smiled and told us to follow her to the Great Pyramid. During the short walk she asked us if we’d like to have a lunch before seeing the king (although I assumed that I wouldn’t see him, who was I but a lowly bastard and a squire). Lady Arya vehemently refused.

“I want to see my brother. If you think I’d bear to have a single bite before I see him, you don’t know house Stark or Tully.” Lady Sansa looked at her sister disapprovingly but did not say anything.

“He told me he wished to see all of you,” the queen said as we entered the building. “Even you, ser Seymour.” She looked him in a way that confused the poor man, but it made sense to me, as for the first time in a week I remembered his upsetting secret.

He grasped my shoulder again, hunched a little, and spoke with wide smile: “You hear that, Ed? You can come too, if you want.” I tried to smile at him, truly I did – but I don’t know if managed something that was not entirely fake.

I climbed the stairs with everyone else, feeling that I wasn’t really meant to be there with them, that I ought to have stayed – stayed somewhere else?

I looked around – the servants, the guards, the bright color of the clothes they wore, the food they carried, the darker color of skin which fascinated me, the plants in the hallways, the – what queen Daenerys jokingly announced to be – the royal cat. I listened to the Starks and the queen discussing the usurpation and king Jon’s arrival and recovery.

“When he flew with Doron, it was night, my people had screamed in fright, because Doron – for being smaller than my children, was all black and unfamiliar to them... as familiar as one can get to their queen’s dragons. When he landed in the gardens, me and my guards were already waiting for him. He was heavily bleeding and half-unconscious and called me ‘aunt’ for the first time since we learned the truth. I called for the healer and we moved him inside. It was on the next morning when I received a raven that brought the news of the coup.

“I never accepted this person as my nephew Aegon. The real Aegon had been killed by Gregor Clegane, along with his sister, their mother raped in front of their broken corpses.” Just as she finished those words, she stopped for a brief second in front of a door that was already slightly ajar. Carefully she opened it, and as I was at the back of the whole ordeal, I still couldn’t see the king. I heard lady Arya’s gasp and saw her rush inside. We entered too, and finally I saw him. He was paler than I’ve ever seen him, but maybe the light in this room contributed to this paleness too – this was arguably the brightest of rooms I’ve ever entered, maybe because the windows were enormous and the sun was shining directly through them, and I’ve never seen a sun so bright in all the years of winter I’ve seen.

Lady Arya had thrown herself to embrace her brother who was half-lying, half-sitting on the chaise lounge. He had his eyes closed and had returned her embrace.

When he opened them though, his eyes searched for lady Sansa’s. When they found her, she held his gaze. I turned around slightly, to observe her: she appeared a perfect mask of ice, but then something happened, the cord of misunderstanding snapped and at last I realized that her eyes were not desensitized, unfeeling ice.

She was frozen, but it was because she was feeling too much.

King Jon exhaled deeply and for the first time lady Sansa allowed herself the weakness of drawing a breath that was a little bit shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's part came out a little bit too angsty for my liking but it's not my intention for this story to be some ode or glorification of angsty emotions. Angst will be resolved, trust me. But did you see the tribute I paid to her last words in episode 9? 
> 
> Also when I was thinking about writing the story I was totally attacked by this headcanon that Viserys had slept with a Dornish woman in Pentos, and she had reminded him of his brother's wife, Elia Martell and more of the backstory will be briefly mentioned in future chapters. Don't worry, all of you who dislike OCs, I dislike them as well unless they are (semi) important but not in a story-snatching way. ;) 
> 
> And I have the idea that alpha dragons are smaller but more powerful than their more common counterparts (or as common as dragons are, anyway) . Dany's dragons are enormous and the alternative was Doron being as huge as a mountain. Doron's probably as big as a cottage. And I just imagine him as a bigger and more realistic version of Toothless from How To Train Your Dragon. 
> 
> I was toying with the idea of Tyrion making an appearance, as I really like him, but I don't think he'd have spent 16 years in Meereen. I'm not even sure, as of right now, if he's even still alive in this story.
> 
> Also, I sooo did NOT intend for Ed Stone to take over the role of the narrator as he did. But the air of mystery and overall ambiguity is really interesting to write. Basically, writing from the perspective of people who know nothing but assume they know everything (i.e. every kid actually) is very refreshing.


	5. In which there's a lot of fainting

**Ed Stone, a squire**

Lady Arya insisted that dinner was moved to king Jon’s chambers, so that they’d all be together. It was a strange thing, being there with all these grand people, and it did not feel right for me, and it seemed that ser Seymour felt the same because he asked if the two of us should go dine elsewhere.

“Seymour, my friend,” king Jon said then, staring warmly at the man. “You’re like a brother to me...” His voice was strangled for an odd second. “I want you and your young squire to remain here, by my side.”

Lady Arya had me sit next to her, with her lord husband by her other side. Ser Seymour was sitting by my right, and lady Sansa next to him – her face had the expression of someone who did not know what to do with themselves, and I didn’t know how I knew that. The queen was in front of us, with her young fiery niece at her left and her older, calmer nephew by her right. She appeared happy that her family was by her side, what might have been a rare smile gracing her features. We had all circled Jon’s chaise lounge, and because he had properly sat up, his Targaryen family was actually sitting there next to him. There was an odd feeling of familial intimacy in the picture they presented, something I’m sure must have been a rare occurrence, given the fact that king Jon was usually in Westeros and the Targaryen women rarely crossed the Narrow sea (not that many actually knew of the existence of the Raedes until recently).

A table had been brought by servants - along with chairs for the rest of the party, and plenty of food. This had been a sight I was not used to, food in the wintery Westeros was frequently sparse, and the taste was always bland. Spices, on the other hand, and color, were things Essos was famous for. I sought ser Seymour’s warm eyes and he smiled at me, a wide and inviting smile that was probably because he was glad I had stopped acting weirdly for a moment.

The talk was, naturally, about Aegon The Usurper and what measures had to be taken in order for Jon to take back the crown. He didn’t seem too worried about the man who claimed to be his brother, did not wish for Essos’ fleet or Stark’s horsemen, saying he knew what to do and that his only worry had been his slow recovery.

A quietness settled then, and everyone turned their attention to the food. I had to force myself not to observe lady Sansa and king Jon, the way he’d steal a glance at her, the way she'd sense him, judging by her more rigid movements, but she'd force herself to not look at him. It was obviously not a natural response but luckily for her, none of the attention was towards her, for it was all towards the royal family and from time to time, the engaging lord and lady Waters.

King Jon, who was the only one who paid any attention to me besides ser Seymour, noticed how I was eyeing the exotic-looking cake by his side.

“They are my favorites,” he told me amicably, as if sharing a secret. “I fell in love with them at Winterfell, a little before I was told of my true parentage. Those were the only ones lady Sansa here did not steal all for herself.” The lady Sansa looked at him with a startled expression, for having mentioned her. I think for a moment she was expecting to be as transparent and unnoticeable as a ghost. Ser Seymour looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if having the same conclusion and not being able to read her. “Do you want to try some? I’m saving them for dessert.”

“I-thank you,” I said and took one. It was bittersweet and nutty and I had some trouble getting used to the new tastes here, but I liked it well enough. “Hey, do you know where Nymeria and Snow are?” I asked lady Arya quietly, for I had come to love those beasts.

“Snow?” queen Daenerys asked - she had overheard me and quickly raised an eyebrow. Did I mention that I love it when people do that?

“Lady Sansa’s direwolf,” I explained. The queen looked at lady Sansa then and did not remove her gaze for a long moment, but the northern witch did not falter.

“I think,” lady Arya said, breaking the intensity of the room, “that the both of them are roaming the garden, it is so lovely, after all.”

Lady Sansa closed her eyes for the moment and when she opened them her eyes seemed greener than usual, and she said: “Your red roses especially - are they a gift from Highgarden?” Queen Daenerys stared at her again, and no wonder – as far as we knew, lady Sansa had never seen the gardens of Meereen. Unless she had come here before, but the queen wouldn’t have seemed so disturbed if she had.

The talk then was transferred to lady Arya and lord Waters’ children, and if they’d like to have them brought at the Great Pyramid to see them. Both parents agreed that they’d prefer to return to their house that night, to see "little Robb and Rhaelle" there so that they’d be able to focus on them, and not be distracted by the royal affairs...

I had not grown used the food there, because halfway during the lunch, I felt odd. My vision blurred, an odd emptiness in my stomach, thrills on my skin as if I was suddenly back in White Harbor.

“Are you alright, Ed?” ser Seymour asked.

There was someone calling a name, my name, but it was not completely mine too.

Feeling out of myself, I allowed myself to raise a hand in a gesture for ser Seymour to stay silent for a moment, so I could hear it better.

There it was again.

Lady Sansa dropped her fork, and in almost the same moment I stood up from the chair.

“Your majesty,” ser Seymour spoke then. “May I take my squire to retire?”

The queen must have nodded silently and motioned to one of her servants to escort us, because soon we were following some woman to the chambers where we would be sleeping.

"Poison," I heard lady Arya declare, voice already so far away behind us I barely heard it.

 

“Where are you?” I answered the voice the third time it called.

 _Follow your heart_ , it said, _and you’ll know where to find me_.

“Who are you?”

 _The question is, who are **you**. _ And then it went silent and spoke no more.

“Ed?” ser Seymour had grasped my shoulder firmly as we walked.

“I have to go,” I said. “I have to find him.”

“Listen to me, Ed,” ser Seymour said then. “This is probably poison, maybe meant for the king or the queen.” He had already opened the chambers and made me lay down. “I’ll go call the healer, you stay here.” He left the room. “Watch over him,” he told someone, probably the servant that had led us here.

I closed my eyes in pain, although I was not sure what was hurting. I felt like I was on fire.

And then I felt like I was falling, falling into something deeper than a well, and darkness consumed me for a brief moment.

* * *

 

It was a harsh voice that pierced my mind as loudly as death - violent and low, a threatening hiss.

_“History will not repeat itself, my love, and no one will have you unless it is I,” someone was saying. And then it went sweet, maddeningly soft. “I will give your lover a merciless death, if you have one. I’ll feed your baby poisonous milk, if you have one. I’ll ruin your life the way I did with your mother and father.”_

_“You’re a madman,” she was saying disgustedly, but could not hide the fear in her voice._

_“No, my little Cat, I’m patient man. I’ve already had your husband killed, despised him as you had. Think of what I’ll do to a husband you love.” And then he proceeded to tell, in the manner one tells a bedtime story, all the violent ways in which that husband could die, how all she loved would die, as it always had, and I wanted to retch because I hated him, and I could not even see his face._

_For a moment, as if my wish was granted, I saw darkness, the silhouette of a man pressing a woman against a wall, improperly close to her._

_“I’ll kill you,” she promised._

_“You can’t kill your greatest ally, my dove,” he murmured-_

And then I was pulled up, and it felt as if I was surfacing from water, the only thing that accompanied me all the way “up” was a gentle melody that was hummed softly in my ear, and I felt infinitely sad for a moment, feeling the presence of something I had not known was missing.

The presence was soon gone, replaced by the hand of a healer on my forehead. “He’s getting better,” I heard him say, and then I fell back, but it was to dreamless sleep.

When I awoke again, I noticed that ser Seymour was sleeping on a chair next to my bed and felt endeared by this act of fatherly affection.

I stood up and put on my boots - ser Seymour stirred but did not awake. Quietly I made my way towards the door and left. My walk was not long, but nor was it short; I did not know where I was headed to, what awaited me, all I knew was that I had to _go there_.

Down below, where the dungeons were, with all the guards asleep that night as if by magic. I opened the door and slowly descended the stone steps into the candlelit space.

And then, further into the darkness, I saw green eyes. Enormous yet intelligent and kind.

“Who are you?” I asked. “What are you?”

And then it spoke, the deep voice of something ancient, something that had not too long ago been a legend.

“The question is who are _you_ , what are _you_?” it repeated.

“I’m ser Seymour’s young squire, a nobody.” I already knew who I was speaking to, it was Doron, king Jon’s black dragon, smaller than queen Daenerys’ dragons but far more powerful.

“Wrong on all accounts.”

Rather than pressing for an explanation, for I sensed it would not be given to me, I simply said: “I did not know you could talk.”

“Few know,” it said simply. “Few can hear me.”

“How is this possible?”

The dragon advanced and I could see its head, a look far nobler and wiser than a dragon was supposed to have. “Jon can sometimes sense me, sense what I want. The kings of old Valyria could hear an alpha dragon, but they never told anyone except their sons.”

“Why can _I -_?”

“Why do you think?” it countered. A question for question, this was growing tiresome.

“Why now?”

“Because you were dying, and you lived.” As if it was that simple. “Because you are the product of the song of ice and fire, twice repeated.”

“You said we shared a name.”

“Doron,” it said. The dragon appeared to love short sentences. “In old Valyrian it means stone.”

“You were named after a bastard’s surname?” I asked, confused.

“No, the bastard surname your mother gave you, before she forced herself to give you up, was after _me_.”

“Why would she name me after king Jon’s dragon?”

 “Because you are supposed to be brave. Twice the stronger, without mother or father. Twice the harder. And brave… That is what your mother wanted of you.”

And then something terrible happened, the dragon breathed into me. It breathed fire but the flames were a pleasant chill after the burning fever.

Then I heard a yell that I could barely recognize as ser Seymour’s. _Rickon Stark_.

And then a strangled cry - that was more surprising than all else. Because I knew that scream from somewhere, I’d dreamt it once. It had haunted dreams I could not remember when I awoke, but I always recognized when I dreamt.

Then the fire burned itself out, and darkness engulfed me.

It was not dreams I dreamt this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist my "Merlin" take on the story. I knew somehow Ed had to go to the dungeons and I would've made him follow Raedes or something, but this morning I thought of this and couldn't resist. So this is how alpha dragons are different than the rest in my AU - they are sentient beings. Jon, for all he knows, has the knack of attracting extraordinary things to him. xD Also, Ed can hear Doron better, but it is only Jon who can ride him, and it is only him that can control him.
> 
> To be honest, at one point I seriously considered making Ed the supposedly deceased son of Jon and Margaery and shock you all. ;) It was not my initial idea for a JxM kid and I didn't follow through, but I just wanted to let you know. You could've been trolled sooo hard. :D


	6. In which the past unravels

It started with a young, familiar boy with unruly hair, opening his eyes. A tall woman that was a walking contradiction - blond hair and gentle smile, and armor, a sword of steel. A red-haired man by her side, a curious glint in his eyes.

“Who are you?” the boy asked upon waking.

“Brienne of Tarth is my name,” the lady introduced herself.

The boy frowned. “And who am _I_?”

The lady and the man shared a look, before the man said: “We do not know, we found you in the forest. Half-starved, half-naked. As if the wolves had chased you.”

The boy’s features grew more and more horrified, as he slowly realized he didn’t have a single memory of the past. **And then -**

* * *

 

Then it turned to a younger lady Arya and lord Gendry. They were in what appeared to be a cave, it was so cold that even the cave itself was full of frost and icicles, a bluish hue to everything.

They were in the middle of fighting some men and with a look of horror that might have equaled Rickon Stark’s from a moment before, I realized that those were _dead_ men.

Lady Arya was in her own world, swordsmanship was an act of art. Even Gendry Waters had glanced at her in a moment of awe that almost cost him his life.

“Careful!” she suddenly yelled, turned on her heels, and as if dancing – cut in half the body of the creature that had been about to kill him.

 Soon they were back to back, both fighting again.

“And of course,” he began with a playful voice, as if they were not fighting a small army of undead, “Near the end, as the world quite possibly falls apart, I had to fall in love. Amidst a battle.”

“You were in love with me for some time, but I’m glad you’re realizing it now,” lady Arya told him cheekily. “No time like the present.”

Suddenly she made a maneuver that was really impressive and ended three wights in one move.

“Marry me,” Gendry proposed, sounding more impressed than romantic.

“And who am I to magic out of nowhere to marry us?” Arya asked, scandalized. “Oy!” she turned to one of the wights. If it was possible, the corpse seemed a bit surprised that someone was addressing it directly. “Want to marry us?” The creature charged at them again with renowned gusto. This time it was lord Gendry who pierced it. Now I realized that both their swords were Valyrian steel. “Didn’t think so,” the lady almost _giggled_. **And then –**

* * *

 

Then lady Arya and lord Waters disappeared, and suddenly I was in another part of the cave. I was right in front of lady Sansa, who looked scared beyond anything I’ve ever seen her. She was clutching a knife – no, a _dagger_ , close to her heart, as if for moral support. She was breathing heavily, her breath visible in the cold, and looking towards her weapon. Approaching steps could be heard, heavy and unnatural - slow, taking their time.

Suddenly lady Sansa looked up and for a second I thought she could see me, but then she turned around and impaled the dagger right into the heart of the white walker that had been about to grasp her. **And then –**

* * *

 

“History will not repeat itself, my love, and no one will have you unless it is I,” someone was saying. And then it went sweet, maddeningly soft. “I will give your lover a merciless death, if you have one. I’ll feed your baby poisonous milk, if you have one. I’ll ruin your life the way I did with your mother and father.”

“You’re a madman,” she was saying disgustedly, but could not hide the fear in her voice.

“No, my little Cat, I’m patient man. I’ve already had your husband killed, despised him as you had. Think of what I’ll do to a husband you love.” And then he proceeded to tell, in the manner one tells a bedtime story, all the violent ways in which that husband could die, how all she loved would die, as it always had, and I wanted to retch because I hated him, and I could not even see his face.

For a moment, as if my wish was granted, I saw darkness, the silhouette of a man pressing a woman against a wall, improperly close to her.

 “I’ll kill you,” she promised.

 “You can’t kill your greatest ally, my dove,” he murmured-

That lady Sansa had never even cared about her husband, Robin Arryn, that it had been a match made out of duty, was known to all. But what Petyr Baelish didn't know was that even if by day she was walking in the gardens arm in arm with the younger, frail-looking boy, by night she was laughing and conversing with a man that would later become her king. A man whose smile made her heart soar. It was a secret she’d take to her grave. **And then –**

* * *

 Then I found myself amidst a conversation, and king Jon was kneeling in front of lady Sansa, as if pleading with her for something.

“I love you,” he said, gently, tenderly – as if all that had made her bitter and cold had happened so that she’d appreciate this heartbreaking softness. “And now that I’m crowned king, I can have no other queen by my side.”

A hand on his chest, pushing him away. “I will live in the North, Jon,” she said, her voice almost berating. “I never want to come south, I’ll never again want to be queen.”

“Sansa-”

She stood up, visibly trying to restrain her emotions, and he caught her hand. It had been a careful gesture but she still violently snatched it away from him.

“I will have no man rule over me again and you’ve been a fool if you thought otherwise. It was fun, having a roll in the sheets with the bastard for a few nights, but I’ll never marry, and I’ll never love you.”

On the next morning she was to depart from King’s Landing, and she was almost running towards her carriage.  **And then –**

* * *

 

“You are absolutely stupid if you think I’ll support this decision!” it was lady Arya’s yell, furious. “He has the right to know!”

“And you bloody don’t know Petyr Baelish like I know him! He is the reason of all that we’ve had to endure since we left Winterfell in the beginning! You of all people should know how easy it is to kill a person – bribe the nurse to slip the babe poisoned milk, as he’d promised, make Jon face an “accident”. He never leaves proof! If _I_ had married him, not a month would have passed before the people would hear the accusations of a mad from grief widowed queen!”

“Sansa, do you have no heart?” lady Arya asked.

“Arya,” her husband said, as if he too found it cruel. She continued as if she hadn’t heard him:

“Jon, the man you _love_ , is marrying Margaery Tyrell, who was once your _friend_ , and you’re letting them? Without saying anything? A _word_ from you will have him marching towards Winterfell and marrying _you_ within half an hour of seeing you again. Your ruining the lives of both of you.”

“I pray that they find happiness,” was all lady Sansa said, and then she turned to lord Waters. “Gendry, I’ll only ask of you to engrave his initials upon my dagger. I should want him to have something that’s a befitting memory of the mother he’d never know.”

“The dagger you used to kill the white walker?” lord Waters asked. Lady Sansa nodded and then looked down towards her growing stomach.

“The mother who’s as hard as Valyrian steel?” Arya said snarkily.

Sansa was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice sounded calmer and softer. “I’ve had to be steel, Arya, it was not my decision. And, for the last few months everybody has thought me terribly ill and bedridden. Please don’t yell and ruin the chance for my son to live. I’m certain Baelish has placed spies in Winterfell, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so sure about threatening my lovers. I’ve only had an old woman who has been without her tongue ever since Ramsay.”

“I’ll kill the spies,” Arya said simply. She then snapped her gaze towards her sister. “I could kill Baelish too. He’d never know what hit him.”

Lady Sansa shook her head sadly. “He said he’d paid enough people that even if he were to die, the death of a child that was not his would be ensured.”

Lady Arya gave an actual growl. “You’re mad with fear,” she said before leaving the room. “I’ll keep your secret but I’ll never forgive you for not sharing it with Jon.”

“The affair was brief, I first laid with him on the night of his coronation. I’ve never even had the time to develop strong romantic feelings for him before I realized I was pregnant.”  **And then –**

* * *

 

Lady Sansa crying over a letter as if her heart had actually broken. Lady Arya and a man who could only be the king of Winter, Bran Stark, were sitting in the same room and were looking at her with somber faces.

“I cannot imagine how it feels,” her sister said at last, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for all those words I’ve spoken. She’d been your friend. That child-”

“Do not presume you know how it feels, Arya,” Sansa said with voice stifled with anger. Arya flinched, but Sansa covered the hand on her shoulder with her own. “But I do not wish to make my life any more difficult than it already is. All I’ve wanted was family…” She took a shuddering breath and opened her mouth to say something. **But then –**

* * *

 

“I think half the population of Westeros are bastards, am I not right? I’m bastard’s daughter, for example,” a woman said, laughing as she drank her ale, a babe in one arm. “With a bastard’s son! And he too is a bastard ” And she laughed again. Ser Seymour, who’d been watching her from two tables away from hers, turned again towards his drink. But then the woman’s voice grew even louder, as if she didn’t already have the attention of the few local whores who had come to the inn to drink and to seduce the travelers. “Ed Stone is his name. The only thing his father left me other than his seed, was this dagger to protect myself! Before he ran away from the thieves that had surrounded his carriage!” And she laughed again, perfectly drunk.

“What happened?” the redheaded of the whores gasped in surprise.

The bastard’s mother raised a brow and smirked. “What do you think happened? I kicked their arses is what happened.” She stared at ser Seymour intently. “He rather looked like you, the father,” she drawled playfully.

One of the whores who knew him by name giggled. “Are you by chance that boy’s father, ser Seymour?”

The knight looked mildly uncomfortable. “I would have remembered.”

“Not necessarily,” another one of them said with a laugh.   **And then –**

* * *

 

Ser Seymour opened his eyes, awakened by the smoke and the world seemed to have gone on fire. Like most of the people he managed to run outside of the building. A crowd had gathered to watch the inn burn, terrified for the few still trapped inside. It was impossible to re-enter, the building looked like it would collapse on itself any moment. But then – a child’s cry and ser Seymour - ever the honorable man - covered his nose with a scarf and approached the building again.

Ser Seymour pulled his shoulder free from the grasp of the inn-keeper that had wanted to say it was too late. He managed to make his way towards the source of the crying and he saw the young mother on the ground. She seemed to have suffocated by the smoke but _somehow_ the child was still alive, a few meters away from her – the flames were almost licking at its small hand, and it was crying. He took the babe in his arms, and locked his eyes with those of the child. “Shhh, I’ve got you,” the knight rasped. He clutched the babe close to him and ran again, until they were outside. The people cheered.

Together, with the child in arms, they watched the utter destruction of the inn.

When the morning came he walked among the ruins – not even skeleton of the mother, the sole victim, had remained after the fire. Ser Seymour seemed to have noticed something with his peripheral vision. Kneeling, he picked up the dagger the child’s mother had so talked about. The initials _T.N._ engraved in the steel. **And then –**

* * *

 

The same woman entered a darkened room, and a feminine figure hidden in a hood was sitting on the bed in its center.

“Well?” the figure asked anxiously.

The mother actually _tore away her own face_ , to reveal lady Arya’s beneath it.

“It’s done,” she said gruffly. “No one spoke for the child and Rickon declared himself honor-bound to watch after him.” With a sigh, lady Arya went to pull away the drapes that had blocked the light from entering the room.

Lady Sansa’s pale face was revealed by a single beam of wintery cold light. She was smiling weakly, until she wasn’t.

“Oh, Sansa,” lady Arya said softly,  **and then –**

* * *

 

Here, at Meereen, a black dragon with striking green eyes appeared. On its back a gasping, dying Jon Targaryen. People had gathered in the gardens it seemed about to land, queen Daenerys and her niece in front of everyone.

With a loud _thud_ the great creature finally landed and the king managed to get down, but his feet quickly betrayed him.

“Nephew!” the queen exclaimed and rushed towards him.

Delirious, not realizing that this was Daenerys in front of him, Jon kept repeating: “Go north, Seymour, go north. North, in the Hornwood forest, and where the Sheepshead hills begin… North you’ll find her, in that dugout we found during the war… Bring her to me, to Meereen.”

“Call the healers!” Daenerys yelled. “Guards, help me move him inside.” She turned towards the king again. “Nephew,” she said more gently, and the way she looked at him was full of pity. “Jon…”

“Bring her to me, Seymour…” he repeated, voice strangled from the pain. **And then –**

* * *

 

“So we meet, nephew,” another voice spoke cheerfully. I looked around. I was in front of a weirwood tree, back in the North. In front of it I saw a tall, handsome man smiling towards me. This man was Brandon Stark. I smiled at him.

“So we meet,” I said and approached him. “What was this?”

“Visions of the past,” my uncle said simply. “I’m glad I’m finally able to see you again, even if it is only in a dream... Although soon we’ll meet in reality.”

“What does this entire thing make me?” I asked, not really having the patience for cryptic talk.

“A prince,” uncle Bran smiled. “And something else you needn’t concern yourself with until you’re an old man.” He came to me and grasped my shoulder in the same way uncle Rickon – ser Seymour – would do. “I have to go now. Sorry this meeting was cut short, but you haven’t awaken for days, and my wife is calling me in the waking world – your cousin’s teething you see and now Meera swears she’d kill me if I don’t return soon. I hope that his pains will have stopped and he’ll be far more endearing when you come to meet him.” I didn’t know how to react except to smile, and soon Bran Stark was leaving. “This one is yours, by the way. You couldn’t ever remember it without magic – you must have been an hour old.”

“Wait-!” _And then…_

I found myself alone in the forest, and a slight wind was playing with the fallen leaves. From somewhere, I could hear the same sweet humming that had haunted me before.

“You have to be strong, Ned,” her sweet voice was murmuring. “Strong as a stone, and brave.”

Suddenly I found myself in a bedroom, and in front of me was sitting Sansa Stark.  She was cradling a newborn babe. “You’ll, you’ll have to learn how to fight in this world,” – she laughed and then sobbed – “your aunt Arya won’t protect you forever.” She caressed the babe’s little cheek. “You have to know that you are loved. And had your father known about you, he would have _adored_ you. You’d have been a prince. But now you have to become a warrior.” Crying, she pressed a tender, if shaking kiss on the babe’s small forehead. “We must both be brave, little Ned, brave like Jon.”

And then a whisper, and I was alone in the weirwood again for a brief second, before I was violently pulled "up".

 _“Nedys Targaryen…”_ followed me all the way to reality.

* * *

“Ed! Ed!” someone was calling.

“Uncle?” I asked groggily, forgetting – after the vision – that I didn’t call him thus.

“He’s awake!” ser Seymour declared in relief. I opened my eyes and saw that both Jon Targaryen and ser Seymour were in the room, along with the healer. I couldn’t really focus on anything, and was surrounded by all sorts of voices – the healer announcing that whatever fever I’ve been through had broken, ser Seymour calling for lady Arya and lady Sansa who had been resting in their own chambers. I was quickly given water and a little bit of fruit and was happily munching on the latter when a distressed-looking lady Sansa hurried inside, followed by her sister.

“You know,” ser Seymour was saying, looking at me with a smile. “I hadn’t seen you open your eyes in so long, I’d forgotten how greenish they are.”

Jon Targaryen looked at Sansa Stark then, who was finally – _finally_ – looking at me. “He has his mother’s eyes,” the king said then, voice deep and thoughtful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I'm on a roll.  
> Also, when I saw the word NEDys in the Valyrian dictionary - and read that it means "a brave person" I couldn't believe my luck.
> 
> Next chapter should be interesting because it finally focuses on Jon and Sansa. All in all, there are four chapters left, plus the shortest epilogue in history (probably). Seriously, it's two sentences long and I've written it ever since the beginning of the story. I find it fitting, but you'll see what I'm talking about later. :D


	7. In which there is a promise of spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but at least there's fluff/angst delivered in this short but emotional chapter.  
> 3rd person POV because I want the main characters of my fic to keep a distance, and I don't know why. It felt more cinematic in the end that way.

**Jon Targaryen, a father**

Sansa must have slipped away from the farce that had been dinner, so Jon quietly excused himself and went in search of her. He found her in Ed’s chambers, now heavily guarded by Unsullied. She was watching over the boy as he slept and only when no one was looking, he noticed then, could the tenderness of her face be seen. He stood still by the door frame for a moment, marveling at a picture that had been stolen from him.

Ed Stone was sleeping, the boy he so frequently saw in King’s Landing, the boy that had been more like a distant nephew to him, Rickon’s pride and joy, the boy whose smile made him speak of things he spoke to no one else. But in the peaceful features of the sleeping squire - in his dark curls, the shape of the eyes, the nose and the chin - he could see all the traits that betrayed the hidden Nedys Targaryen, rightful prince of Westeros, his _son_.

Sansa moved to caress the boy’s forehead but she seemed to have sensed mid-motion that there was another in the room and froze. She stood up and turned around, presenting her guilt-ridden face to him, but Jon felt no need to condemn her, she could have pierced him right through the heart and still he would pardon her with his last breath.

He nodded towards the door, for they couldn’t risk awaking their boy with the gravity of the conversation that was about to take place.

**Sansa Stark, queen of Winter**

He closed the door as quietly as possible.

“Don’t speak until we’re sure no one else will hear,” she warned, her voice sharp. They both looked around in the semi-darkness of the new room, and upon finding no threats, silence fell for a moment.

He came near her then, slowly but still she cowered before him. He stopped himself a few inches from her, his eyes alight with a light that could not have been reflected from anywhere in the room. He looked so vulnerable that she cradled his face with her palm, her tears betraying her. She’d had to be strong, so strong for him, for her son, for everyone. She had forgotten the feelings she’d kept buried and somehow, through some strange magic, he made it impossible to suffocate the love she’d kept under her skin. She would hear whatever fate he deemed worthy of her, but just for this moment she wanted to allow herself to touch him.

“Why?” was the only thing he whispered into her lips, voice broken from his own sobs. “Why, Sansa?” She could not speak, she couldn’t begin to tell the past that haunted her so. “Tell me!” he ordered in that newfound strangled voice of his, and Sansa buried her fingers in his curls, laying her head on his shoulder.

“He’d promised that he’d poison any child of mine that was not his. He killed Robin, he had a part in Joffrey’s death, in Tyrion’s disappearance. He… I think Petyr knew that I- that you were more important to me even before we found out about Rhaegar and Lyanna. You and Ned, you both would have been dead before a nameday had passed.”

“I would have killed him,” he sobbed into her, and she felt the weight of his chin on the crook of her neck. “I would have protected you both.”

“Jon,” she said quietly. “I thought we established it a long time ago that no one could protect me... I wanted – I wanted to be on my own. I _wanted_ to be the only one to look after myself. I wanted to never have to lean on another for support… I broke both of our hearts, and Nedys’ too, but at least I had him grow near you, near Rickon…”

He broke free of the embrace then, and looked away, through the window. “I knew he was my son. I realized it a month before the coup, when I saw the dagger I had given to _you_. I had written you a letter…”

“A letter I never received,” Sansa interrupted and felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, Jon, I think his spies intercepted it before it reached me.”

They locked gazes for a long moment, understanding the undercurrents that had been beneath their feet for so long.

“Petyr’s old, his mind is weaker, I _will_ avenge the family he stole from us.” And his voice was filled with rage, with fire and blood. Jon looked at her then and his expression was  the same, the same as the night after he found her at Castle Black, the same…

“Can you ever hope to forgive me?” she asked, and it was the first time she’d begged someone since she was a girl.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, the same as before. “You are the mother of my child and my heir. You were threatened, as was the life of our child and the man… the man you loved.” She so desperately wanted to touch him again but she couldn’t, so she didn’t. “My feelings for you never died, Sansa, you must know that, surely you must know. Even Margaery knew during out brief marriage, I had to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to love her as she deserved.”

Sansa looked at him warily then, her eyes hard but slowly softening. “I’ve been on my own for so long, Jon,” she warned. “For so long I’ve forgotten what it was like to be warm, to be soft…”

He embraced her then, his lips landing on her cheek. “I will make you warm,” he whispered so softly, so sweetly that if it wasn’t against her ear she would not have heard it. “And I’ll give you time, and space, when you need them. And I will be everything you wish for me to be, and never doubt this: once this is over, if you still want me, I’ll make up for all the times you felt lonely or isolated, for all the times you were hurt or betrayed.”

Sansa leaned into him for the first time and it was a desperate, doomed woman seeing the first light after the storm, it was like the promise of spring.

“Oh, Jon,” she said and pressed her forehead against his – his eyes were closed, but hers were not – drinking him in. “You were never unwanted, not when it came to me.”

**The woman behind the door**

After both Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark retired to their own rooms, the figure of a woman obstructed the small hole in the wall, left the hidden chamber, and went to report.

“Your highness, here is what I saw…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like things are finally starting to get lighter!  
> ...or are they? ;)
> 
> The woman behind the wall was inspired by the spies during the Russian Empire, they listened and recorded everything that transpired behind closed doors of the royalties. 
> 
> I didn't want to further the Jonsa angst. All the shit that happened before were mainly because Sansa was super traumatized and didn't know what to do, she wanted to have some freedom and she also didn't fully trust Jon's ability to protect her. Now she's older and wiser and seeing the face of their son for more than a week, and pretending that Ed meant nothing to her, weakened her resolve and softened the ice around her heart. 
> 
> Jon's really angry but it's directed at Petyr and Aegon and whoever managed to poison his son. I always felt it really hypocritical when in fiction a guy says he would forgive anything the woman he loves does but then she hides something and he goes all "LIAR! I TRUSTED YOU!!1!" He's had some really traumatizing childhood feelings and upon finding that Sansa didn't leave because she didn't love him, he's actually super relieved.
> 
> Tell me what you think!


	8. In which things are being Figured Out

**Nedys Targaryen, a -?**

 

A week had passed after my poisoning and finally both Jon Targaryen and I were deemed healthy enough to travel. It was crucial for him to return to Westeros’ capitol as quickly as possible, before the people had the chance to further sympathize with Aegon’s imposter.

The rightful king shot down all the offers of the queen of Meereen for aid, claiming that: “No one fights my battles but me,” and then promptly – “no, Arya, not even you.”

I had spent that week bonding with Arya Stark’s children – Robb and Rhaelle – but I think I was too old to be a proper playmate to them. Both looked like their father – I was told it was the Baratheon blood refusing to be anything but strong. Robb wanted to become a knight and looked at me like I was some sort of hero. Little Rhaelle, I think, mistook me for her favorite bear-toy. I had little else to do but get to know them, seeing as I was bed-ridden (courtesy to the miserable-looking sod that was Daenerys’ old healer, Amicos_.

 

At night I got to know more of uncle Bran and his wife and children, but he promised me that when I finally met them at Winterfell, we’d become great friends and not just family.

“So you know that my- that king Jon – that my father will win?”

Uncle Bran smiled. “The future is not set in stone, my nephew. Do you know how many times I had dreamed that the world would end in Ice, before the Great War was won?” He stood up a bit straighter. “But if you believe in the good future hard enough, the possibility of it happening becomes stronger.”

“So if I believe that the Winter would end-?” I asked hopefully, dreading to return to the uninviting icicle that was Westeros during Winter.

“Yes and no,” he said. I found out that uncle Bran loved to speak in riddles. “There is a reason behind this never-ending Winter and it might soon be unveiled, but until it is all resolved, Spring won’t come.”

“Is it…” I began, searching for the courage to voice that particular thought. “Is it the Others? Are they returning?”

“They might return one day, but it is not today, or tomorrow, or a hundred years from now. It might be never. If we want the Others truly gone, magick would have to cease existing.”

“But, uncle Bran, how is that possible?”

But I awoke from the cold.

 

I still felt a lot more unsure when it came to my actual mother and father, than with my aunts, uncles and cousins. King Jon and I once spent a full day in the garden and stayed silent for most of the time but I’m not naturally a quiet person, if you haven’t noticed, and soon I started rambling. Then lady Sansa came and brought Winter with her steps. She sat down between us and after a moment of complete silence, she cracked a dry joke. I think she warmed up to me a little.

 

The last day of our stay in Essos was full of nervous preparations, talks, and last-minute theories of the mystery poisoner who had not been found out yet. It seemed like the investigation would continue, but we could not stay there long enough to find out the truth. Queen Daenerys promised to write us as soon as possible.

I didn’t sit around to listen to the “adults”, felt the need to go out and breathe a little, soak up the sun as much as possible before returning to King’s Landing.

The queen’s garden was indeed beautiful and full of roses. They were not as pretty as the winter roses that bloomed in the capitol but the garden more than made up with its variety: at least there were other types of flowers, bushes and trees there. I felt enamored with the prettiness and the smell and barely noticed the dark figure of Raedes sit by my side on the bench.

“So, cousin, how are you doing?”

“Trying to repress the new information – successfully up until now – thank you very much.”

“One day you might be king and you are trying to repress it?” I looked at her and did my favorite thing: arching an eyebrow. She giggled, one of her dark curls falling in her face before she brushed it away. She didn’t look Targaryen, but neither did king Jon or… or I, for that matter. Her eyes were fiery, reddish brown, her eyebrows thick and her hair the darkest brown with a reddish tint.

Suddenly we heard a low growling. “Snow!” I reproached. “Come here, boy!”

The white direwolf with golden eyes came to me and leaned into my offered hand, licking it as any normal dog would.

“He doesn’t like me very much,” Raedes observed.

“He doesn’t like the heat, I think,” I said, my fingers digging into his white fur. If I felt like I was in hell, I wondered what the furry beast felt then.

“You know, my aunt was trying to marry me off to your father before recently,” she said matter-of-factly.

I looked up to her in amazement. “You’re his cousin,” I told her simply.

“So is your mother.”

“I-…” I had no words for this. “I’m a product of incest?”

Raedes laughed. “I think you should stop being so scandalized about that because otherwise you’ll have a _really_ hard time coming when you start studying our family tree.”

I remained silent for a while, trying to process it all. I think my brain froze, or became overheated in this case, for a few minutes.

“You know,” the dark princess said, as if continuing a long conversation “now my aunt might marry me off to _you_.”

I sighed and looked into the horizon in misery. “So much for repressing thoughts...” And then I remembered of uncle Rickon and decided that it was time to face reality.  

“At least you’re funnier than Jon,” Raedes said and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in her orange gown. “Goodbye, my cousin… or maybe future husband,” the princess said and left, gracefully as any young Dornish woman. There was fire in her blood, alright.

Soon I heard uncle Rickon calling out that it was time to go and stood up.

Aunt Arya and Sansa Stark were embracing, and uncle Rickon and Gendry Waters were shaking hands.

“You’re staying?” I asked.

Aunt Arya released her sister, looking unhappy and distressed with my words but lord Waters – oh, fuck it - uncle Gendry? – smiled at me. “We’ll come with the ship - Arya, the wolves and I - but your father here wants a faster transport.”

“A faster –?”

The king smiled one of his gentle, rare smiles and whistled. A few moments later (damn, that was fast) the great, black form of Doron landed with a loud _thud_ that shook the courtyard. The dragon greeted me with knowing green eyes that somehow also managed to appear innocent and wide.

 _Hello, young prince_ , he greeted.

“Hello, Doron,” I replied our loud and king Jon caressed the muzzle of the dragon, looking into his eyes.

“He likes you,” my father said, sensing but not hearing.

 _He will hear me some day_ , Doron promised. _I think it will be soon._

The king moved to mount the beast then. “Are you ready to go?”

“Jon-” lady Sansa said, unsure. “I-”

But he offered her his hand and as if something changed within her and she grasped it. He pulled her up in front of him and told her she’d be safe but still she looked a bit pale.

Uncle Rickon rested a hand on my shoulder and leaned down to say: “Why do I get the feeling that, should this all end well, we might see lady Sansa in King’s Landing a _lot_ more frequently?” I turned to look at him and he grinned at me conspicuously.

Suddenly I hugged him and he was surprised, but I think mainly he tried not to cry. This was the first time since I learned of his secret that I was acting warmer towards him. But this was the first time since then that I finally got to see him for who he was: the man who raised me as a father, who introduced me to a world of adventures, who made sure I never lacked acceptance, cheerfulness and friendship.

“Of all the times during childhood,” lady Arya was saying, looking a tiny bit envious of her sister, “that she said adventures were for knights and generally sounded like a boring little lady, she gets to ride a  _dragon_ across the sea.”

Arya’s husband whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and shut up.

“Well, then,” the king said, prepared to depart. “Ed, are you coming?”

I think I lost ability to speak for a moment and just stared at him with closed mouth and unmoving eyes. Then:

“Are you kidding me?” I asked, but I was already walking towards Doron. “This would be dangerous!” But I was already taking his hand and sitting behind him. “Ser Seymour would never let me-”

“I would and I do,” the man interjected with a laugh.

“Let’s go!” I announced and they all laughed.

I turned to look at the party that was bidding us goodbye. Uncle Rickon was grinning, Aunt Arya was having one of those silent conversations with her sister, lord Gendry was just standing there for the moment, as aunt Arya would say - "smiling and looking handsome". Queen Danaerys’ expression was unreadable but I think this was just her normal face and she was gracing us with one of her little smiles and I think this was advancement. I wonder where I got the sense of humor: the Targaryens or the Starks? I'd wager aunt Arya. 

Then there were the guards who just stood completely expressionless and serious, and then there were the wolves that seemed unhappy with us leaving them, and then there was Raedes who was winking at me, like she did when I first arrived at Meereen, but I decided not to dwell on  _her_.

And so, without further ado, king Jon whispered something in Doron’s ear.

“You better hold on tight, son,” Jon said and for a moment my chest felt so full I thought it would burst. But then I really clutched him tightly by reflex, because Doron had flown away so swiftly that the ground and all of my family there just blurred away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gendry said to Arya: "But you get to ride *me*"   
> Honestly I'm not sure what's more fortunate: riding a dragon or this. 
> 
> Still not sure if I should make my epilogue longer and publish it in a different chapter. Right now I'm wondering if I should add a Lyanna Mormont x Rickon pairing in the end, where Lyanna is surprisingly charmed by Rickon's optimistic and cheerful persona with him cracking ridiculous jokes, but of course she is being canonically constructive and tells him to get his shit together (LyannaMormont™). OR if I should make Rickon the Lonely, Forever Single Stark.


	9. In which the world ends

#### Aegon Blackfyre

 

I was awoken by a knock on the door. “Your grace!” Ah, naturally, Littlefinger. Who else could come visit in this late hour? Certainly not some prostitute, as I already had a whore sleeping next to me. “Your grace! You must come with me right now! The bastard king is coming!”

I felt my heartbeat speed up and after a moment I was already dressing and opening the door. “The guards? The army?” I asked.

Littlefinger shook his head. “They are regrouping and waiting for him to land at the courtyard, but they are afraid – he has come riding on his dragon. They might - they might also decide to take his side...”

For a moment I realized I had entrusted my life in the hands of an old fool. I told the whore, who had awoken, to scatter and she quickly took her rags and ran away. “Can someone take care of the dragon?” I asked, once we were alone.

Petyr Baelish shook his head and I felt the urge to punch him. “I thought,” I said through gritted teeth. “I thought that Daenerys had promised she would take care of him.” I took out her letter from the drawler and shook it in front of the man’s face, as if it would help us somehow. “In her last letter she wrote that Raedes, the scorpion that she is, would put poison in his favorite sweets! We are _not_ prepared to have him back in King’s Landing!”

“It seems, my lord,” Petyr said calmly, as he motioned me to follow him through the hallways. What else could I do? I followed. “That there were unexpected circumstances that made her change her mind and cease her part in her nephew’s unfortunate demise…”

“And what could that be?” I hissed, as Petyr opened one of the more hidden doors and entered.

The old man didn’t even turn to look at me as he said: “Her bastard nephew has a bastard son.”

“Well? So do I! I have a dozen bastards, what could my dear aunt find so appealing in a baseborn?”

“The child's mother” Petyr Baelish punctured each word, “is lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. It seems that queen Daenerys somehow found out of a warming relationship between the lady of Winterfell and her nephew and thought it would be more profitable to have them marry and unite the North and the South.  Afterwards she could have their legitimized son marry her niece and heir and thus unite the West and the East. It would certainly be better for the dragon queen than marrying Raedes to a fake Targaryen king who lacks the love of the people that Jon _Snow_ so completely has.”

Upon hearing his words, I stopped. “Careful, Baelish, you do not want to anger your only ally, do you?”

I could _hear_ Petyr smile one of his ironical smiles. “On the contrary, lord _Blackfyre_ , I happen to be the only ally _you_ currently have and as you see I am saving your life. Should we manage to escape, there is always the chance that we could have Jon Snow and his son eliminated and have you retake the throne.”

“Oh, so you think it would be this easy-?”

But suddenly there were armed guards in front of us that made us to stop. “Lord Targaryen and lord Baelish, you are arrested in the name of his grace, king Jon!”

Petyr and I paused for a brief second before we turned on our heels and ran. Petyr was slower but we managed to block the door, so that the guards wouldn’t be able to follow us. There were other guards though, coming from different paths, and instead of getting to the lower part of the palace, where we’d be able to escape, we were pushed to the upper parts and finally the top.

We sealed the door, it was made of iron and it would hold longer than the rest, but still. I looked down from the wall and realized it wasn’t really that high, the palace Jon had built in the place of the Red Keep's ruins was never a high building. But jumping from there wasn’t a bright idea, seeing as it still would kill us.

There was a great number of people that had gathered to watch the arrival of the bastard down there. In front of the palace were the redheaded bitch, accompanied by a number of guards that seemed set on protecting her. Next to her was that sniveling bastard squire that so frequently was moseying along the court and – _oh_.

But where were the bastard and his beast?

I needn’t have wondered, it seemed, for I heard a great _thud_ behind me and turned to meet Rhaeger’s true son. He seemed leaner and weaker than the last time I saw him and I could see that there was something odd in his walk, and I realized that on his way here the wound I had managed to deliver him had reopened. An idea struck.

Surprisingly it was Littlefinger he addressed first. “Lord Baelish, so we meet again,” he said coldly.

“Rest assured, lord _Snow_ ,” Littlefinger said and his whole frame was shaking with rage. “That even if you kill us, you will know no peace. I have so many secret alli–”

“It is you who never knew peace, Bealish, throughout all these years” Jon Snow spoke, leaning heavily on the side of his dragon. “And after you are executed for treason, the memory of you will disappear, you will fade into history, and we will forget you. For all your secrets, you were always a man behind the shadows. No one will know the struggles you’ve had, the fights you’ve won, the things you have achieved. The men you have paid to betray us when you die, they will never do it - they will keep the money and the lands you have given them and know they’d be pardoned by their king, for ever striking a deal with you. You always were and always will be a footnote in the grand story of things.”

I have never seen the old, seemingly frail man that was Petyr Baelish so enraged. He looked ready to say something more, but it was then that I charged at Jon Snow with my dagger. I managed to pierce him twice in the stomach, even if shallowly, and held him as I felt him get heavier in my arms, for apparently he had lost his balance. I released him and let him fall on the ground and afterwards I turned to Petyr then. This is how one does this – no words or games, only action.

I turned to look down at my fake half-brother – he was crawling back very slowly, as if he wanted to die at least a little bit further away than me.

“This is a war you could never have hoped to win, Jon Snow,” I told him. “Honor only gets you so far. Any last words?” Maybe he’d want me to tell something to his redheaded whore before I took her for a queen (thus I’d still execute Daenerys’ plan and still unite the North and South so that she wouldn't seek vengeance for her nephew), or maybe his bastard, before I killed him.

Jon Snow stood up then, very slowly, and embraced his dragon’s head. “Dracarys,” he whispered softly, almost as one would to a lover.

The alpha dragon opened its mouth then and I could see a flaming ball gather at its throat.

The world ended in fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be in Jon's POV and after that we'll have an epilogue from ser Seymour's.


	10. In which the world is made anew

**Jon Targaryen, king**

 

Once the fire cleared out, Jon fell on his knees once more. It was no use, he’d die before the guards managed to open the bloody door, and he had no power left to open it for them.

Sansa, Ned, all the happiness of the past week seemed in vain. Jon prepared himself to die, knowing that at least his heart would be full of love...-

But, no. He so desperately wanted to live, for once, he wanted to get closer to Ned. He wanted to truly get to know the boy. He wanted to remember Sansa. He wanted to remember how it felt like to kiss her, how it felt like to fall asleep with her in his arms. He wanted to remember how it felt like to trust her, to confide in her, to laugh with her – they had so loved to laugh together, once.

 _Let me help_ , someone said then.

Who’s that? Jon wanted to ask, but didn’t have the breath to speak out.

 _Take out your sword_ , _Jon_ , the voice said. It was a kind voice, almost as if he’d heard it in his dreams. Jon decided to trust the voice, figured he had little to lose, and willed his strength to unshield it.

 _Bring it to my mouth_ , the voice said then. It was then that Jon realized whom the voice belonged to.

“Doron?” he rasped.

_Hurry, my king. Before your strength fails you._

Jon watched, either mesmerized or already dazed from the blood loss, as the dragon breathed into the sword.

_Now press its flat side upon your wounds, they will seal._

Jon was not one to swear often, but he did now, knowing this would hurt. Closing his eyes he pressed the burning steel into the wounds. "Think of Sa- oh _fuck_!" He felt like he fainted for a few seconds because of the sheer pain.

Just as he sealed the last, reopened wound, the door was forced open and the guards entered.

“Your majesty!” they exclaimed, surprised. “Where are the two lords?”

“They are gone,” Jon said simply. “Help me up, I need to go to the wall and address my people.”

“But you’re bleeding,” one of the guards, Gareth, said as he approached him.

“No matter, I have to speak now.”

It still hurt to a point where he felt like he could keel over the wall, but at least it wasn’t life-threatening anymore. The people had livened up when they saw him.

“King Jon!”

“Look, it’s the king!”

“What happened? Where’s Aegon?”

“He was not a true dragon,” Jon spoke out loudly enough to be heard ten meters below (it was hard, considering the pain). “The man who claimed to be my brother, Aegon, was an imposter, for a true Targaryen cannot be burned by dragon fire.”

There were gasps. “So he’s dead?”

“Good riddance, he raised our taxes twice!” someone said, it looked like one of the more prominent merchants.

“There is more,” Jon shouted.

“Quiet, Flynt, let’s hear the king!”

Jon was by now heavily leaning on the stone railing for support, but he had to continue. “One of the things Aegon said was that Spring would not come because your king is born a bastard. I feel the need to share something with you. My mother, Lyanna Stark, had married my father Rhaeger on the day before he died. I was given the marriage paper that supports this, long ago, in my second year as king. By the current laws, it should be illegal however, because Rhaegar Targaryen was already married to Elia Martell. I leave this piece of information to you, my people, judge it as you will. Am I a bastard or not? And does it matter to you, it is up to you to deside?”

“He’s a trueborn!” someone from the crowd shouted. “Old Rhaegar was a Targaryen, they were known to marry more than once!”

“Aye!” the merchant that had spoken at first agreed. “Bastard or not, but I know his taxes were survivable in this harsh coldness!”

“What I want to say,” Jon continued, by now only wanting to collapse on a bed and sleep for days. “Is that I don’t know when this winter will end. But I know one thing! I will try my best to see you all survive through it!”

Jon now found his speech sufficient, felt like he had explained all that was needed. Soon, should all end well, there’d be another speech, one where he told the people of his love for Sansa and of his son, who would be legitimized as soon as he awoke from that day-long sleep he so craved. He’d tell them everything, Jon was never one to keep secrets and it was time and again a proven method for him to always be open and honest with his subjects.

As he made to turn, ready to leave, he heard the applause of the crowd. Jon turned to look at them again, and smiled briefly, almost shyly, but of course it would not be fit for a king to be shy.

“ _Thank you, Doron_ ,” Jon whispered to his dragon as he left, supported by Gareth. He was surprised to see the beast bow its head and then fly away, towards the coming dawn.

As he was going down the stairs, he saw that Sansa and Nedys were waiting for him at the end. He noticed that her arm was around the boy’s shoulders although she didn’t appear to consciously realize it. Jon wondered where everyone else was but for the moment was grateful that it was only them now.

Her face seemed impassive to all the other people, like a stone, but he could see the emotion in her eyes, he could accurately feel her worry. He told his guards that he’d be fine on his own and as he was landing on the final step, he embraced her, nuzzling into her neck as her arms rose up to encircle him in a tight and safe grasp.

“I told you I would protect you,” Jon said tenderly. He heard her breath hitch and moved to kiss her forehead. “Why didn’t you believe me?” he whispered into her hair as he blinked back tears of relief that it was all finally over.

“I was scared,” Sansa said then, and her voice was small, like she was close to crying. Then she made effort to sound strong again. “I was so scared then, that I’d be manipulated, mistreated, confined or controlled. That someone would hurt me, rule over me, beat me… For so long I’ve been scared.” She wrapped one hand on the back of his neck and buried the other one in his hair. Her voice grew soft then. “I’m not scared anymore, Jon.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment and only opened them when he moved to include an unsuspecting Ned in the hug. The boy looked ready to protest and say something quirky as he usually did but closed his mouth and remained wordless, for once.

It was one of those rare moments of utter happiness, that even tiredness and pain were forgotten. Spring would come now that there was to be love ruling over Westeros, of that Jon was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that part when shorter men step on stairs in order to appear taller than their loves. ;D  
> The epilogue should be up soon, hopefully!  
> As for Dany's betrayal in the last chapter, I feel compelled to explain. I already explained it in a reply to one of the comments, but I figure not all of you go about reading comments on stories that aren't yours.
> 
> Dany is a woman who had lost her own chance at ruling Westeros because she was overshadowed by the love of the people for her nephew. Jon Snow was a man who mysteriously refused to remarry, thus shooting down what would have been the perfect opportunity for her to marry off her niece - who she sees as the closest thing to a daughter - and fulfill her own unrealized dream through her. Now a man who claims to be Targaryen comes, and although she knows for certain that he is not Rhaegar's son, he promises to put her niece on the throne and fulfill all of the aspirations that Jon killed off.  
> What was a deal-breaker for her was realizing that her nephew had a good reason to not want to remarry, and more importantly - he had a child. In order for her to execute the plan to the end, she would have to eliminate both her nephew and her grand-nephew, and she wasn't this heartless - she was a Targaryen, a memeber of a dying out, once Great family. She also realized she could still fulfill her dream of putting Raedes on the throne through Nedys. Don't think that if Jon and Sansa ever discover this they would cancel an engagement as potentially powerful as this one - this would be a political move.  
> Aegon was more stupid than usual towards his end because his thoughts were driven by panic. He didn't realize that if he had married Sansa a) she would have slit his throat while he slept, and b) Dany would have burned him anyway, because all this time the only thing she wanted was Raedes on the Iron Throne.


	11. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

_ Expert from a book on the history of Westeros: _

_“On the sixteenth year of king Jon’s rule, a man who claimed to be his half-brother Aegon came to court and shoved a knife in his back. While Jon fled on his dragon to Meereen, where his aunt Daenerys ruled, Aegon declared himself the new king. The usurpation was poorly thought out however, and Aegon’s brief ruling was unstable at best. A month after being overthrown, Jon returned to Westeros and executed his foe on the grounds of high treason. In truth it was later revealed the usurper was actually an Aegon Blackfyre, who had impersonated the murdered Targaryen prince almost all his life, with various people feeding him thoughts of grandeur._

_This short dramatic period however brought the reunion between king Jon and his paramour, Sansa Stark. When she was young, the lady of Winterfell had been forced to give up on their child, Nedys Targaryen, “The Democratic king”. After retaking the Iron Throne, king Jon legitimized their son and on prince Nedys’ nameday, 8 th of November, the king came to Winterfell to take lady Sansa as his bride. This day marked the beginning of spring, which had been a great omen both for the union – which would further strengthen the ties between the North and the South – and for Nedys’ future rule…”_

 

**Ser Ronald Seymour**

It was a wild day. The bride was pacifistic enough, but the sister and the sister’s family were wrecking havoc with their nervous preparation, the kids breaking things here and there and playing chase with Bran Stark’s older children. Did I mention I had the mother of all headaches? It felt like my head was about to explode.

Anyway, said man, dear Bran Stark, appeared too happy to notice the chaos around him. He made no effort to stop the destruction his children were wrecking, and he seemed far too busy to talk with Ed (although the boy preferred to be called Ned now). I was still feeling crept out by the way they struck their friendship at first glance, not to mention feeling a little bit threatened. My boy was prince, he had a real father and family now, he would doubtlessly forget about the old knight that raised him (alright, I'm not that old but I _feel_ old). I stuck close to Gendry, watched as lady Arya and lady Meera Stark yelled orders about the enormous lemon cake, the guests and what else, and generally waited for the king’s party to arrive.

Well, I didn’t _only_ stick close to Gendry, as I was feeling quite taken with one lady Lyanna Mormont, and endeared by the way in which she constantly shot down all of my jests. We actually got to know one another through bureaucratic correspondence first, and even then I found her honest and cutting speech charming, but this was the first time we were seeing face to face.

She did crack up a smile once, but only for the briefest of moments during which her eyes lit up and her whole face seemed beautiful.

 

Finally, at noon, we heard the king was coming on his horse along with the rest of the South’s main nobles, and we all ordered in front of the castle.

The Stark children – Robb and Rhaelle, Bran’s Lyarra, Torrhen, and their youngest, Jojen, stood around their parents, impatient to see the royal party arrive. This _somehow_ put me between Gendry and lord Bran. Lady Lyanna and the rest of the noble northerners stood behind us.

When we were already hearing the horses approach, the main door of the castle opened and out came lady Sansa, accompanied by Ned. The bride was naturally a vision with her pale, harmonic features and her slender figure, her Tully red hair. It was Ned that surprised me most – he looked every inch a prince and for a moment I barely recognized him. Where was the funny boy I raised?

The bride and her son came to stand on Bran’s other side.

Quickly enough though, Jon arrived. He dismounted his horse and hurried to greet his cousins. He leaned down to embrace Bran, nodded at Meera, whose hands were busy holding little Jojen, patted Torrhen and Lyarra on the heads - something he repeated on lady Arya – she seemed especially pissed off about that. I heard Ned laugh at that. The king took little Robb in his arms for a moment, and asked him how were his knightly dreams going. “He wants to become an explorer like mother now,” Rhaelle said. “And _I_ want to be a Lady.” Lady Arya gave a really odd smile at that.

Ned came to greet his father with an awkward but strong embrace, making Robb, still in Jon’s arms, giggle.

Jon let the little boy down then, his eyes searching for lady Sansa, who had interestingly enough hidden behind the rest of the Starks.

Jon’s eyes found hers amidst all the people and she was looking at him with something between mischievousness and shyness. She came forward then and giggled when he embraced her, their foreheads touching. Ned was probably rolling his eyes.

“More of that, my dear cousin,” Bran said, “ _after_ the wedding.”

We all laughed.

* * *

The wedding that followed was a grand and merry affair, the food was delicious, the winter roses were lovely and what I liked best about it was lady Mormont who was making me forget all about my headache.

“Well, ser Seymour,” she told me when I came to her, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I expect you will take me to a dance?” I could not believe my fortune for a second, before I gathered my wits about me and offered her my hand.

As we swayed towards the other couples, I could see lady Arya dancing wildly and way off the beat with her husband, both of them laughing like there was not a bad thing in the world.

Bran was sitting behind the table, and his Meera was on his lap, cradling his face and showering him with little kisses. He was smiling against her lips, his eyes were closed.

Ned was being climbed by his younger cousins and he looked half-pissed, half-happy.

I whispered something in Lyanna’s ear that made her laugh and I deemed that my life was now complete.

And then I saw them, Jon and Sansa, dressed in their grand clothes and looking at each other with utter love.

“They look so much like mother and father,” I mused out loud.

“What?” Lyanna asked and stopped.

And then I froze.

Finally the headache that was killing me felt like it exploded in my head and I released my lady as if burned. Backing away until I hit the table, I felt like I was breathing too shallowly, too quickly.

Ned turned lazily to look towards me and the smile on his face froze. He put his cousins down and came to me. “Ser Seymour?” he asked. Lady Lyanna was now also near me, looking uncharacteristically concerned.

But Roland Seymour was not my name.  I was Rickon Stark of Winterfell, and there were once Father and mother… Bran! And Sansa and Jon and Robb and Arya and then…

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“He remembers now,” Bran said. I sobbed out. The music continued and none of my other siblings had noticed the little scene I was causing, so I forced myself to stand tall and let them have their fun. We could talk on the morning after. We had so much to talk about, and the best of it – so much time.

Grief for the things I had lost, happiness for the things I had found. I remembered Brienne and Tormund who had adopted me, their kindness and honesty, how much I laughed when I was growing up with them. I remembered having to raise Ned, my own nephew, and finding happiness with him. Actually, come to think of it, for all the bad things I went through as a child, my life after that was defined by laughter, merriness and acceptance from the people I loved.

I would be alright. 

Lady Lyanna excused herself and left me with my family, but her voice had been gentle, and she had smiled encouragingly at me before she left. I think she knew, perhaps she had always known. Meera also left us and went to tend to the children and the guests. 

I went to sit next to my brother, Ned following me closely in case I lost my balance again, and soon the three of us were sitting alone on the great table.

“So,” I began, cracking a brave smile.

“So,” Bran said and his grin was a mirror of mine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, this story ends! :) Thank you all for your support and reviews, it's what made me keep on writing this! This is the first multi-chaptered story I have completed since I was in 9th grade, so I'm feeling really proud of myself! 
> 
> I had in mind to include how with the progress, magic slowly disappeared. Nedys' name became linked with the idea of democracy. Raedes wasn't pleased but because she had meanwhile fallen in love with him, despite being older with a few years (and incidentally almost poisoning him in the beginning) she remained with him. When he was an old man, he became the Three-Eyed Raven, but Raedes refused to leave him. She claimed that after their children and nephews, he was the last Targaryen and her last kin, so she followed him North.  
> Varys founded the first newspaper and Lyarra Stark and her brother Torrhen (who didn't want to become a lord) worked there and later inherited it. Lyarra and Torrhen were exceptionally close for siblings, she was his rock before he came out to his family. Jojen was the Stark that wanted to remain in Winterfell, married and continued the Stark name. Rhaelle fell in love with one of the Northern lords and surprisingly moved from Meereen to the North, but at least she was close to a part of her family.  
> Lyanna and Rickon married and had a child that was stillborn but after a few years they went on to have more children.  
> Jon and Sansa went on to have five daughters and another son, he became a poet.  
> Robb Waters found a new continent, starting the Age of Discovery.  
> As for our canon characters, Bran and Meera, Sansa and Jon, Arya and Gendry, and later Rickon and Lyanna, they went on loving each other and their family, because love, no matter its nature - between parent and child, siblings, friends or lovers - is what brings warmth to the world.


	12. Announcement

A new jonsa story is out!

It's much more focused on our favorite couple, but I'll be adding Bran x Meera in the future (some day I'll definitely write something solely on those two, I love them).  
It's a sort of a time travel story where the battle for the dawn is lost, Jon is dead and a dying Bran crawls to the roots of a weirwood tree and sends past!Sansa a vision that is warning her for the things to come, as all was lost because the Starks/Targaryens took too long to gather the armies that would march north and fight with the white walkers.

The events start at the beginning of s1 but will be in no more than 6 long chapters, full of plot, jonsa smut, longing and angst. Hopefully all with a happy ending again, but for that we shall see.

The story's called "To See You Again", be sure to check it out!


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